The Destruction of Hope
by owlcroft
Summary: The judge investigates a case of fraud while Mark eats pizza.


Disclaimer: The main characters are not my creation and I make no profit from them. No actual place of business or person, living or dead, is herein referred to, except by unfortunate accident. No account or broadcast of this story may be disseminated without express written approval. All copyrights are retained by the author. So there.

Author's Note: The three editors who helped with the creation of "Destruction" deserve more thanks than words can express. Nevertheless, that's what I'm stuck with, so "thank you".

To Jo, with Gratitude

THE DESTRUCTION OF HOPE

by

Lynn Walker

The judge was late getting back from his doctor's appointment and Mark McCormick was worried. It was just supposed to be a routine check to see if the diet was lowering his blood pressure and cholesterol. That couldn't possibly take four hours, could it? Of course, it was after five and maybe Hardcastle and Dr. Friedman had stopped off for a beer, but that was unlikely. Hardcastle was supposed to be cutting down on beer, along with red meat, cheese, fries and pizza. Maybe the test results showed something serious. Maybe the judge had been in an accident.

_Maybe I'm turning into Hardcase's mother_, McCormick thought disgustedly. _He's a grown man and can take care of himself. But if something's happened to him, I'm gonna kill him for not calling._

The sound of a truck pulling up in the driveway jerked his thoughts back to reality. Dropping the pool skimmer, he headed for the front of the house at a trot. Yep, it was the judge.

"Where the hell have you been? It's been more than four hours. Didn't you even _think_ about calling? Did you get the test results? What did they say? Are you okay? What -- "

Judge Hardcastle interrupted him by waving a hand and saying, "I'm fine. The tests were good, but I gotta stay on the diet a while longer. I'm sorry I'm late, but Charlie and I got to gabbing and, well, that's a long story. C'mon inside and I'll tell you about it."

"But you're fine, right? I mean, the long story's got nothing to do with your tests, or anything." McCormick was still looking anxious.

The judge pulled him in through the front door as he said, "No, it's nothing to do with me. At least, not yet. But Charlie may have given us our next case."

The pair entered the study and headed for their respective seats, Hardcastle at his desk and McCormick in the leather chair at the desk end.

"Get me a beer, willya?" The judge was already pulling the phone toward him and getting out a note pad and pen.

The younger man snorted and replied, "Yeah. And let's order a pizza with extra cheese, Judge. You said the diet was working, right? Well, how about a Coke instead?"

Judge Hardcastle sighed and said, "Look, when Charlie said I could have a heart attack or a stroke or something, that was_ if _I didn't get my cholesterol down. The test today was lower than a week ago, so I'm already better. Okay? You've gotta get a grip, kiddo. I'm fine."

"Yeah, but you won't stay fine if you don't stay on the diet. What is this case Charlie mentioned?"

"Well, he mentioned a friend of his that died a couple of weeks ago and he was pretty upset. Really more angry than sad. So, I asked him if there was anything, you know, _funny_ about it. He said the guy died because he went to one of these quack cancer clinics, and there oughta be a law against them. So, we got to talking about it and I think it's time somebody took a real close look at this Doctor Jorgensen and his Clinic of Hope."

"Jorgensen's Clinic of Hope? I've heard of them. Don't they take people who've been diagnosed with something fatal? Then they take all their money and treat them with apricot pits or something."

"Yeah," sighed the judge. "Something like that. This friend of Charlie's had colon cancer and the doctors didn't give him more than a year or two, so he went to this Clinic of Hope place and died two months later. Charlie says it was because this Jorgensen guy took him off the treatments he'd been having and put him on some weird pills out of Mexico and told him that and peace of mind were all he needed for a cure. You know, Charlie's right. It's time somebody did something about that place."

"But, judge," Mark protested, "isn't that what the AMA is for? And the state regulates places like that. How does it stay in business?"

"Well, apparently, they don't bill themselves as medical doctors treating patients. They use terms like 'practitioner' and 'attendant' and 'holistic' and a bunch of other hoo-ha that skirts the edge of the regulations that are supposed to protect people from goofballs like that. Look, I told Charlie I'd stop by his house tonight after I dig up some info on Jorgensen, so get dinner on the table no later than six. Right now, I'm gonna try a few phone calls."

"No problem. The turkey'll be ready in a half-hour."

"Turkey, huh? With what?"

Mark turned from the doorway to recite, "Turkey breast with young, green peas and stuffed potatoes. For dessert, baked apples with maple syrup, walnuts and raisins."

Hardcastle sniffed and said, "Sounds okay. But I wish we could, just once in a while, have something that had four legs."

"So, pretend this was two turkeys." Mark headed for the kitchen.

ooooo

Hardcastle got out of the truck and waved to Charlie Friedman, who was standing in his front yard with a little girl who looked to be about 8 years old. "Charlie! Hope you don't mind McCormick tagging along."

Doctor Friedman waved back and said, "No. I appreciate him coming, too, Milt. You haven't met my daughter, I think. Becca, this is Judge Hardcastle and Mr. McCormick."

The dark-haired, jeans-attired girl looked up at the two men and said, "Hi. Wanna see the kitties?"

"Well, hi, Becca," said McCormick as the judge and Friedman chuckled. "I'd love to see the kitties." He looked at the other two grown-ups to get their approval.

"You go ahead," the judge waved him away. "Catch up with us later."

"We'll be in the living room, Mark. Becca, don't keep him too long, all right?" said her father.

"Milt, look, I really do appreciate your wanting to do something," Friedman continued as he ushered his guest into the living room, "But if Jorgensen's managed to stay in business this long, I don't see what you can do. He's got to be on the right side of the law or he'd have been shut down years ago."

Mrs. Friedman was there, shaking the judge's hand and offering him coffee.

"Well, Charlie, Linda, we don't know what we can do until we know what's going on. That's why we're here tonight. I couldn't find out much through my usual channels, so I was kinda hoping you could fill in a little about this guy and his clinic."

Forty-five minutes later, a kitten-laden Mark McCormick was followed in by an equally-laden Becca. "Judge, can we have a kitten? They're just the right age to be adopted and Becca says she thinks we'd be good parents."

The Friedmans smothered their grins and looked at Hardcastle hopefully. "Milt," Charlie said, "we do need to find homes for them. We were adopted ourselves by the mother and we didn't realize at first that she was pregnant. If you'd like one or two, you can have first choice."

A hopeful McCormick looked pleadingly at the judge, but Hardcastle shook his head and replied, "Gee, that's awful nice of you, Charlie. But we're just not home enough and besides, we don't really need a cat. I'm sure you'll find good homes for all of them with no problem."

Becca and McCormick sighed despondently as the judge got up and said, "Look, I think we got a plan here. What I need to do is find out about Jorgensen himself so we can implement it. Let me call you tomorrow and we can maybe set a date to get this thing going, okay?"

Doctor and Mrs. Friedman rose also and went with their guests to the front door. Mark tried to show the judge how cute the kittens were, but Hardcastle ignored him.

"I don't like it, Milt," Mrs. Friedman said. "It just isn't right for you to do something that could be dangerous."

"Now, Linda, it's not gonna be dangerous and I want this guy. Anybody that preys on the sick like that needs to have a little 'treatment' himself, if ya know what I mean." The judge waved at McCormick to put the kittens down and get in the truck.

"It's gonna be a pleasure taking this guy down," he continued. "We'll talk about it more tomorrow and get everything fine-tuned."

"Milt," the doctor put a hand on the door of the truck. "Thank you. Cliff Burrows was a good man and he deserved better. Anything you can do . . ."

Hardcastle patted his hand and said, "We'll get this guy, Charlie. For Cliff Burrows and all the others he's swindled."

The Friedmans, all holding kittens now, waved as the truck pulled away from the curb.

"So, tell me what I missed," McCormick put on the turn signal. "You sure didn't take long."

"Didn't take long because they don't know much more than I found out this afternoon. This guy Jorgensen started his little clinic about six years ago. He's not a medical doctor, but he does have a degree in psychology. The really weird thing is there's no history on him before the record of his degree. It's like he came out of nowhere. The only records I came up with are concerned with the clinic. I've checked with everybody I could think of, the AMA, the State Board of Examiners, the Board of Psychiatry, nobody knows where Jorgensen was born or grew up. Maybe it's a small town somewhere. Gonna make backtracking a lot harder."

McCormick turned onto the freeway entrance ramp and said, "Did you check for a legal name change? That'd be the first thing I'd do if I wanted to hide a dicey record. Change my name and move to a new state. Clean record, new start."

Hardcastle squinted at him and said, "That's a damn good idea."

"Well," McCormick moved into the fast lane. "One of us has to know what he's doing."

The judge grunted and then said, "Can't this thing go any faster?"

ooooo

The next afternoon, Hardcastle was in the study, organizing his notes, when the back door slammed.

"Hey, you wanna give me a hand with this stuff?" Mark yelled. He lowered an armful of groceries to the kitchen floor and went back out for the rest.

When he got back inside, the judge was picking through the paper bags. "You may as well give up. There's not a hamburger in the bunch. But we do have chicken, some lovely sole, and the nicest pair of Cornish game hens in the store."

"I don't want Cornish game hens. I want meatloaf. I want steak. I want pork chops." Hardcastle sat down at the table to sulk.

"Judge," Mark sat down across from him. "We've had this little talk before, remember? In another month or two, _if_ you're good, you can start phasing in red meat and cheese again. Look, I'm eating the same stuff you are and _I'm _not complaining."

No reaction. Just more sulk.

Mark tried again. "Look, weren't those potatoes last night good? You didn't even know I used low-fat cottage cheese. You _liked_ them."

The judge sat and pouted.

Mark stood up. "All right, fine. You just sit there while I put all this stuff away. But no dessert for you tonight, young man."

Hardcastle slammed a fist onto the table. "I don't care, dammit! I want a hamburger and I'm gonna have one. One lousy burger isn't gonna kill me!"

McCormick froze. Then, slowly turning to face the judge, he said, "Maybe not." He sat down at the table again. "But let me tell you one thing, Hardcase," he said seriously. "I went through this with you once. Remember when we both thought you were gonna die? I'm _not_ doing it again. You got that?"

The judge shifted uneasily. "I'm not gonna die. At least, no time soon. But look, I do have a few years on ya, y'know. The odds are you'll out-live me and there's not a whole lot either of us can do about that."

"Maybe not. But there are some things you can do to live as long as you can. And if you don't do them, well . . . I guess that just means you don't care how long you live and what you put me through. So tell me now, Judge. Because I'm serious. If you really don't care, then we'll tell Charlie and you can eat whatever you want. But if you do that, then I'm gone. It would mean everything I thought I knew about you was wrong."

Hardcastle played with the grocery receipt on the tabletop for almost a minute, folding and re-folding it. Then he sighed. He looked away, towards the countertop and said, "Okay. Maybe I'm being a baby about this. But it's not . . . it's just . . .it's nothing to do with you or what we . . ."

"I know." McCormick was still being very serious. "I know it's not easy. But it's only for a little while, Judge. We have been going crazy lately with the junk food, you know. It's not hurting either one of us to eat a little better for a few months. Just try, that's all I'm asking. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. But you gotta realize there may come a time when I go someplace you can't. That's life, kid. Or, actually, it's death."

"Well, we won't have to worry about that for another forty or fifty years. And by then I'll be too old to be pushing your wheel-chair anyway. So are you gonna help put this stuff away or are you too feeble?"

Hardcastle started unpacking groceries and thinking about the two pounds he'd lost, how much better he was sleeping, and how much better he felt after the usual gorilla b-ball. But there was no way he was gonna tell the kid that. Especially after that little heart-to-heart just now.

"Hey! I meant to tell ya. I got a line on Jorgensen out of Montana. Turns out he's from Blackfish Lake and his original name was Joseph Turner."

"Great! What about his medical background, or doesn't he have one?"

"Oh, yeah. He got a medical degree from some little two-bit college in the Virgin Islands and was actually interning when he got caught lifting some of the drugs from the hospital storeroom. After that he bounced around doing some work as a hospital orderly. You know, lifting the patients from one bed to another kind of thing. Then he got this bright idea of swindling people who're dying. Maybe he saw how desperate they can be when he was interning. Anyhow, he changed his name to Nils Jorgensen and came out here. Somehow, he got the financial backing to buy an old ranch north of San Bernardino and restore it and fancy it up with fountains and stuff. I'm still looking into whose money it was, but I can make a guess right now." The judge put a finger on his nose and pushed it to one side.

"It's not always the mob, Judge." McCormick put away another box of cornflakes. "There are other people with money who don't care how they put it to use."

"Yeah, but this was a _lot _of money and the bent-noses have the contacts in Mexico to bring in the phony pills he dispenses. That's gonna be one of the keys to nailing this guy. If we can get some samples of those pills and prove they're either illegal or harmful, we can at least shut him down until we can get a complete package. That's why Charlie is setting me up with a fake file on skin cancer."

"What?" McCormick put a white-wrapped package on the counter next to the stovetop. "Skin cancer?"

"Right. I've got those two keratoses on the back of my neck from the sun. Charlie says I ought to have to have them taken off, because they could become skin cancer. But, I'm gonna pretend I thought he said they're cancerous right now. I'm gonna go in and tell Jorgensen I'd rather take his pills and his serenity course than have surgery. What's in the package?"

"Sole fillets. That's tonight's dinner. Sole amandine with rice and green beans. Green salad on the side. What's a serenity course?"

"See, that's part of the treatment at the Clinic of Hope. These guys tell you to be calm and happy and it makes their pills work better. It'll be a real pleasure taking these yahoos down."

"Well, I agree with that. When do we start?"

Hardcastle grinned. "I made the first phone call this afternoon."

ooooo

Jorgensen's Clinic of Hope was a sprawling collection of white-stuccoed, tile-roofed buildings. Judge Hardcastle handed the binoculars to McCormick and said, "The largest one is the 'clinic' proper. That's where the patients are housed and there's a rec room and therapy and stuff. The littler ones are offices and homes for the resident 'attendants', including our boy Nils/Joseph."

McCormick was still scanning the grounds. "Well, I guess the fence is our best bet. Are you sure they'll let you out at night?"

"If they don't, I'll just have to break the rules." The judge reached for the binoculars. "I'm gonna tell 'em I left the check with my financial manager until I was convinced to sign up with 'em. Then, once I know the schedule, I'll come out, brief you on the details, and head back with the money. This is only supposed to be the interview, you know. I figure they'll show me around, fed me a lot of hoo-ha about their treatments and hand me a contract to sign. I _know_ they're not gonna turn down an easy $10,000."

"You know, that's a lot of money, Judge. And we're not likely to get it back."

"That's why I'm only gonna give 'em the first half now. I'll promise 'em the rest once I've actually started their treatments. I think that'll fly."

McCormick headed back to the Coyote, parked by the roadside. "I still don't like it. You'll be in there alone, with no back-up. I'll be stuck out here and I won't even know what's happening until you sneak out at night with the pills. And how sure are you that they'll give you pills? Suppose it's injections, or some kind of radiation?"

"Nah, Charlie said it's pills. And even if it isn't, I can still snoop around and try to find something else we can use." Hardcastle wedged himself into the Coyote. "It's gonna be fine, don't worry so much. You'll still be back-up, just not quite as close as usual."

"I dunno, Judge. I got a bad feeling about this."

"Just drive us back to town. I'm gonna be late for my appointment if we don't hustle here. And _don't worry._"

ooooo

"Mr. Hardcastle, I'm pleased to meet you." Nils Jorgensen stretched out a hand to the judge. "Please come in and sit down."

"Nice to meetcha." The judge took the leather chair in front of the enormous cherry wood desk. "Nice little place ya got here."

"Thank you. We were fortunate to find it. The environment is critical in the treatments we use and this area is particularly beneficial." Jorgensen picked up the medical folder on Hardcastle in front of him and flipped through the first three pages. "I see that you've been diagnosed with skin cancer, early stages, though. We certainly ought to be able to help you, Mr. Hardcastle."

_Right_, thought Hardcastle._ That's lie number one_. Aloud, he said, "That's great. I'm really counting on you here, Doc. I guess nobody likes the idea of going under the knife."

"Exactly. And why should you when it's unnecessary? It's merely a way for physicians and insurance companies to make a profit off human suffering. Here at the Clinic of Hope, we've chosen a different path. One that places the patient over the profit." Jorgensen put the folder to one side and leaned forward, gazing at the judge with sincerity plastered on an inch thick. "We use a combination of approaches here. Obviously, we have medications to treat the cancer cells and kill them off. Those medications are my own creation, based on the work of specialists over the last twenty years. We also use your own body's inner force to combat the invading cancer. A healthy body, with a healthy mental attitude, is the best defense against any illness. Here, we try to encourage our friends to maintain a calm, serene frame of mind, which aids the body's efforts to repel the enemy. It's of crucial importance to avoid any upsets or irritations. If you're depressed or angry, the enemy cells can increase in number and strength."

At this point, Hardcastle tried hard to stifle a yawn and nodded interestedly.

Twenty minutes later, Jorgensen wound up his pitch and said, "And so, if you'd like to take a short tour of our facility, I'd be happy to show you around."

"Uh . . . yeah, that'd be great." The judge got out of his chair with alacrity. _Lordamercy, put this guy and McCormick in a room together and see which one outtalks the other!_

After a tour that lasted nearly an hour, Hardcastle was familiar with most of the grounds and a few of the buildings. He'd seen the physical therapy department, the pharmaceutical lab, the patient housing, the patient dining area, the recreation area (including pool and sauna), the garden (for contemplation and meditation), the chapel, and the medical unit for 'friends' too infirm to live in the residence suites.

"This all looks terrific. I'm convinced." Hardcastle tried to gush just a little bit. "This really is fantastic. You're doing a wonderful thing here."

"Thank you, Mr. Hardcastle. It's truly a blessing to be able to do what we really believe in – helping others." Jorgensen looked with pride over his establishment as the judge kept the smile on his face with great effort.

"Look, when can I start? I'd like to get this all taken care of as soon as possible," the judge said, meaning every word.

Jorgensen turned back to him and clapped him on the back. "Well," he said, "you've already started. Don't you feel better already, just knowing your problem is going to be taken care of? This is when it all starts; just keep that confident, happy attitude and I can assure you of a cure."

"Great! I'll just head back into town for the check and I can be back here by 4:30. Is that okay?"

"Absolutely. That $10,000 will be put to good use, you know."

Hardcastle pursed out his lips and shook his head. "Well, I've got a check ready for $5,000. I thought I'd see how the first few days went and then hand over the rest. You don't have a problem with that, do you, Doctor Jorgensen?"

Jorgensen looked at the judge for just an instant, then replied, "Please, we don't use titles here. Call me Nils. And no, that's not a problem at all. I'm sure you'll be satisfied with our approach here after just a day or two."

"That's fine, then. I'll be back by no later than 4:30 and we can get started today." The judge headed for his rental car (chosen to give an impression of luxury) and turned back to wave and shout, "Thanks, Nils. See you in a couple hours."

Jorgensen returned his wave and motioned with his head to a man in orderly whites. "Ken," he told the orderly when he came near, "Remind me to keep an eye on that one. He's being cagey with the money. His name's Hardcastle and he'll be in Suite 16."

ooooo

Judge Hardcastle parked the rented Lincoln Town Car next to the Coyote at the Sleep-E Time Motel in San Bernardino. He locked the car, walked to the door of Room 5 and knocked. After a few seconds, McCormick opened the door, said "We don't want any," and closed the door again.

Hardcastle stood and fumed. A few seconds later, the door opened again and McCormick said "Judge! I'd recognize that purple face anywhere. C'mon in and make yourself comfortable."

"What's the idea, wise guy?" Hardcastle growled. On entering the motel room, he turned to face the younger man and continued, "And did you _have_ to have pizza for lunch? At least you could've got rid of the box before I got here."

McCormick sauntered past him to pick up the offending pizza box and shove it under the bed. "Hey, look. Nobody said _I _couldn't have pizza. And there's a great little Italian place right down the block. I think I'm gonna like staying in this dump."

"Well, that's just terrific," the judge was trying to find a comfortable chair. There were only three in the room, and he'd already tried all of them. "How's the bed, any better than these chairs?" He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid kicking the pizza box with his feet. "I hope you have a wonderful vacation, 'cause I'm sure not gonna be having any fun at that clinic."

"So, tell me all about it. And when are you due back? They did accept you, didn't they? Or did you flunk Health 101?" Mark had been busy at the bureau, and now brought the judge a can of Coke and a glass filled with ice.

Hardcastle produced a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to McCormick in exchange for the Coke and glass. "Just take a look at that. That's the suggested schedule for the patients, to keep them in harmony with the atmosphere or something. I gotta wrap this up fast just to get out of there with my brain intact. And no smart remarks from you, either! I'm already in a bad mood, just from listening to that smarmy bedbug tell me how wonderful everything is there and how many people he's _cured_. I'm telling ya, kid, this guy's lower than slime on a snail."

"Whooo! This is really great, Judge! After 9 AM breakfast, you get to walk in the garden and think peaceful thoughts. And a choice of sauna or whirlpool at 10:30? Wow, and after your 11 o'clock rest period, you get a nutritionally-balanced lunch! Gosh, and look here – after your nap from 1 to 3, you can either play a light game of badminton or horseshoes. And then, the best part; afternoon meditation with herb tea." Mark grinned at the judge. "Man, are you gonna be living the good life. And here I am, stuck in this dreary old motel with nothing to do but eat and sleep and watch TV. Oh, judge, I am so glad you're finally getting the vacation you deserve."

"Yeah, thanks for the sympathy. Let me tell you one thing about this whole deal. They ask you what you want for these so-called gourmet meals and I'm having a Porterhouse steak with french fries tonight. Hah!"

"Uh-oh." McCormick was instantly serious. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," the judge was trying to lean back and look smug. It was hard on that bed, but he managed it. "They cater to every whim. And I'm gonna have ice cream for dessert. After all, I have to be happy, or I won't get better."

"Ju-udge. You know you can't have that stuff yet."

Hardcastle just looked at McCormick with a slight smile.

"Judge."

Hardcastle gave up. The smug, insouciant look was killing his back. "Gotcha, hah!" He put his feet on the floor, kicking the pizza box even further back. "They're not gonna be taking any orders from me 'til they see my check."

McCormick was still squinting at him suspiciously.

"I gotta get going. Look, you're straight on where we meet, right?" The judge headed for the door.

"Yep. I'll be there." McCormick followed the judge out the door.

As Hardcastle got into the Lincoln he said, "Don't be late. I don't want to be caught out of my dorm after lights-out."

"I'll be there on time." McCormick leaned on the drivers' side door. "Are you really gonna stay on the diet there?"

Hardcastle turned the key in the ignition and put the car into reverse before answering. "You'll never know, kid!"

McCormick looked after the Lincoln with a disgusted expression. "Arkansas donkey."

ooooo

While Judge Hardcastle filled out the forms required for his stay at the Clinic of Hope, Jorgensen telephoned Hardcastle's bank to verify the $5,000 check.

Hardcastle signed his name at the bottom of the last form, leaned back from the desk and grinned. "So, what do I do first?" he asked, rubbing his hands together.

Jorgensen smiled back and gestured at the window. "Please yourself, Mr. Hardcastle. It's only an hour until dinner. Ken's taken your things to your suite, so you could take a stroll in the garden, or familiarize yourself with the grounds. Whatever you'd like to do. Have you decided what you'd like for dinner tonight? I can telephone the kitchens for you."

"Yeah," said the judge, thinking of McCormick and smiling inwardly. "I'd like grilled chicken and vegetables."

Jorgensen lifted the receiver of the phone. "Fine. I'll call that right in. Please, go explore. Just maintain that peaceful outlook we discussed earlier. Be in harmony with your surroundings. I'll send someone to find you when it's dinnertime."

"Thanks," the judge rose and headed out. "I'll just look around a little." He waved a hand towards the garden. "And I'll think peaceful thoughts the whole time."

_What a sleazeball_, thought Hardcastle. _Now, where's that drug lab?_

He strolled casually in the direction of the pharmaceutical lab, trying to look serene and peaceful.

At the back of the lab was a loading dock, presumably for the shipments of 'medicine' that arrived periodically. Hardcastle checked the door that led from the loading dock into the building proper, but it was, as he'd assumed, locked.

_Well, that's too bad. Sure would like to see the records in there. _He sauntered off in another direction, this time heading for the one building that Jorgensen hadn't shown him on the tour.

As he approached it, though, someone came out of the building and headed toward him.

"Can I help you, sir?" the man was dressed like an orderly, in a white tunic and pants. Even his shoes were white.

"Yeah," Hardcastle was casual. "I'm just checking the place out. Y'know, finding out where everything is and seeing what's where. What's this place, now?"

"This is the staff residence. I'm afraid it's not open to our visitors, Mr. Hardcastle."

"Oh, you know who I am?" The judge maintained a friendly expression, while thinking _And just how do you know that? Did Jorgensen set you on me? _"Well, what's your name?" and he offered a hand.

The orderly shook hands while saying "I'm Ken. I'd be glad to show you around, sir. Have you seen the rock garden? Most of our visitors find it very peaceful."

Hardcastle indulged in a mental sigh, knowing his explorations were over for the time being. "Gee, that sounds real nice, Ken. Where is it?"

ooooo

It was just ten minutes short of midnight. Hardcastle was sure everyone else in the patient residence was asleep. They had to be. There was nothing to keep them awake. No televisions or radio, no newspapers; even the books were boring. He'd tried to get up a card game with a couple of the other residents in his wing of the building, but they felt the competition would be too stressful and might affect their recoveries.

The judge opened his door, peeked out, then tiptoed out and headed for the side exit.

He arrived at the meeting point at the fence five minutes early, but McCormick was already there.

"All right, what _did _you have for dinner?" were the first words out of Mark's mouth.

"You got a one-track mind, you know that?" Hardcastle stuck a hand through the five-foot high rail fence. "Here. That's the night batch. I get another set in the morning. You sure Frank's got the okay to get these analyzed?"

McCormick took the capsules from the judge. "Yes. I told you that. When do you get the daytime pills?"

"First thing. They bring me tea and take a blood sample and I have to take a whiz in a bottle."

"You get to have all the fun, don't you? Did you get a look at the drug lab yet?"

"Not really. I got a peek at the loading dock in the back, and the door from there was locked. But this guy, an orderly, knew my name this afternoon when I'd never seen him before and he kinda trailed around after me for a while. Maybe I should take it a little easier on the snoop stuff." Hardcastle looked around at the mass of buildings behind him. "On the other hand, I don't think I can take too many nights like this. I've never been so bored in all my life. Do you know they don't even let you watch TV in there?"

"Look, just be careful. If you think they're watching you for some reason, back off for a while. Being dead's even more boring. And speaking of that, what did you have to eat?"

"Guess!" the judge was enjoying himself.

McCormick gave him a look that the judge recognized, even by flashlight. It meant he was through playing and wanted an answer.

"Time you were heading back, kid." Hardcastle decided to really enjoy himself. "And watch out for the rattlers. This is the time of night they come out."

"Rattlers? You mean rattlesnakes?" McCormick shone the flashlight around. "You're not serious. Are you?"

"Well, yeah. They're cold-blooded, you know. They come out when it cools off and they can find prey to eat. Mice and ground squirrels and stuff. Just keep your light on the ground in front of you and you shouldn't have any problems." Hardcastle straightened up from leaning on the fence. "They don't sound like rattles, either. It's more like a kind of hiss. Once you've heard it, you don't forget it. Now, go on. Get those pills to Frank and I'll meet you back here tomorrow night."

"Oh, no! I'm not going anywhere if there's snakes out there! I'm gonna just sit right on this nice fence here and wait until the sun comes up and all the little snakes have gone back to bed. _You_ get the pills to Frank."

"Come on, McCormick. They're not gonna jump out at ya. They stay on the ground and at least they warn ya when you're getting too close. Now, go on! You can't stay here all night. Just walk back to the Coyote the same way you got here and keep the light where you're gonna step. Go on, scoot!"

"I don't know. This is a really bad idea." Mark wasn't exactly whining, but he was clearly unhappy. "Rattlesnakes. Judge, I really, really don't like snakes."

"You'll be fine. More people are killed by lightning than by rattlesnakes."

"You just made that up, didn't you?" McCormick was slowly edging away from the fence.

"Yeah, but it _could _be true." Hardcastle turned and started back to the clinic buildings.

"What makes you think I'm coming back here tomorrow night?" was the last thing the judge heard.

_That was fun._

Hardcastle had just about made it back to his building when Ken appeared.

"Mr. Hardcastle. Is anything wrong, sir? You should be asleep now."

"Oh, I'm just fine, Ken," the judge answered. "I've always found it relaxing to look at the stars and breathe the night air. Makes a man content, y'know? Helps with the serenity and peaceful feelings and all that. Don't you think so? I'm surprised Nils doesn't recommend it."

Ken turned to escort Hardcastle indoors. "I have to agree with you, Mr. Hardcastle. I'm fond of the night myself. But you do have to watch for certain . . .dangers out here. For example, this is the season for rattlesnakes and the nighttime is when they're really active."

_Oh, boy._ _And I thought that was so funny. _"Huh. I would've thought it's early for them to be out now."

"It is. But we shot one just the day before yesterday. Guess the strange weather we've had is bringing them out a lot sooner than normal. So it would probably be best to enjoy the night from your window, Mr. Hardcastle. Safer, you know. And your safety is my responsibility."

Hardcastle forced himself to leave his worry behind and concentrate on the present problem – Ken.

"Well, it's time I turned in anyway. I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Ken."

"Goodnight, sir," Ken answered politely, though with a vaguely unsatisfied expression.

The judge was just as unsatisfied with Ken, but less vaguely.

ooooo

At 8 AM, the judge was woken by piped in music which sounded like someone had dropped some wind chimes. And then kicked them. It was "Serenity Time" and he just couldn't bear it. Stuffing his head under the pillow, he stood it for another few minutes, then gave up. Standing under the shower was the only respite.

At breakfast (9 AM, your choice of cereals, fresh fruit, and herb tea accompanied by inspirational readings), Hardcastle tried to get to know some of his fellow 'guests'. Most seemed preoccupied, which was understandable considering their situations. Maybe he'd have better luck in the whirlpool.

Maybe bubbling water helped. In the whirlpool, he met two men about his age who were at least _willing_ to talk, if not eager. Both made it plain that the Clinic was a last, desperate resort.

"So, you believe these pills are really what he claims?" asked the judge. "I mean, that story about the drug companies and the FDA and the insurance companies all keeping him from marketing them . . . well, I think that's a little thin, don't you?"

Stan, the older of the other two, looked away and answered, "What choice do we have? If it works, then I'm ready to sign over everything I own. If it doesn't, then what difference does all my money make to me?"

"Well," Hardcastle said slowly, "if you had kids, you know, you might want to leave them something."

The other man, Al, spoke up now. "But we don't have any kids. Most of us don't have much family at all. Maybe that's why we're here. We don't have to worry about who we're leaving our money to. Why not take a chance on this guy? And if he's the real thing . . .you're here for the same reason, right? You want to believe it's true."

"And maybe it is. It makes sense to me, anyway." Stan slouched deeper in the whirlpool. "Encourage your body to fight the invading disease. Strengthen your attitude and you strengthen your body. Let go of stress and embrace health. It sounds reasonable to me."

"Yeah. I guess so." Privately, the judge thought it was a bunch of baloney. "It's just kinda new to me still. But, I'm sure it's the real thing." _Poor guy, quoting the brochure like some kind of whatchacallit, mantra. I gotta get this place closed down pronto and these folks to a real clinic._

The three were notified by more broken wind chimes that it was 11 AM and time for rest period.

"Well, I'm heading on in, guys. Maybe I'll catch you at lunch." Hardcastle heaved himself out of the pool, grabbed a towel and headed for his suite. Once there, he changed into jeans and a t-shirt, pocketed a small camera, and went straight back out.

The grounds were mostly deserted. The judge strolled casually toward the lab where the pills were delivered and then dispensed to the residents. He glanced around nonchalantly once he was standing at the front door, then pushed it open behind him and stepped in backwards.

Inside was a small office, with a door to the right leading toward the rear of the building. Hardcastle looked down the hallway, but it was as empty as the little office. Moving quickly, he pulled open the drawers of the desk and riffled through the papers he found there. Next, he tried the filing cabinet behind the desk. The top drawer held personnel files and routine accounts for telephone, electricity, and the like. The second drawer was patient information and medical records. The third drawer held the pharmaceutical data. The judge pulled out the file with the most recent date, just the week before, and thumbed through it until he found a delivery receipt and a list of the items shipped. A quick click and the page was photographed. He was looking at the next page when he thought he heard something. Just a small sound, like the scuff of a shoe. In a flash, the files were back in pace, the drawer was closed and he was standing at the front of the desk, looking around.

"Oh! May I help you, sir?" A cute little brunette came in from the hallway and sat down at the desk.

"Yeah," said the judge. "I was wondering if you had anything that might help me sleep. You know, nothing real strong, just enough to let me drop off. I had a terrible night last night. Probably just being in a different place, and now this rest period . . . if you had anything like that, I'd sure be grateful."

"I'm sorry, sir," said the brunette, whose name tag said "Eileen". "I'm not a dispenser, but I can certainly have one prescribe something for you. What's your name?"

"Hardcastle, Milt Hardcastle. Look, I don't want to be a bother. If somebody could just leave a couple of pills in my room for tonight, that'd be great."

"I'm sure we can do that for you, Mr. Hardcastle. I'll see to it that you have something delivered this afternoon." She made a note on a pad and then smiled up at him. "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Nope, that's it. Really appreciate it. Thanks." Waving at her, he backed out the door. . .to discover Ken standing there.

"Mr. Hardcastle. Is there anything wrong? Anything I can help with?" Ken was definitely looking suspicious now.

"Oh, no. Just getting a little something to help me sleep, that's all. Thanks, anyway. Gotta get back and try to rest now." Clapping a friendly hand on Ken's shoulder the judge headed for his suite.

ooooo

Ken went into the pharmaceutical lab office and asked Eileen, "What did that guy want? Was it sleeping pills? Was he in here alone at all?"

Eileen looked at him perkily. "That's all he needs. And, yes, he was in here when I got back from break, but he couldn't have been here long. Why?"

"Never mind. Just curious." Ken left and headed straight for Jorgensen's office.

ooooo

The judge tried to keep a low profile the whole afternoon. He did manage to talk to a few more patients and get a stronger feeling that these were people who had little, if any, family. After dinner (salmon steak with mustard-dill sauce), he went back to his suite to read the Zane Grey he'd managed to smuggle in. There he found the sleeping pills he'd requested along with his nighttime "cancer-cure" pills. Those he carefully wrapped in a tissue and put in his pocket, while he promptly flushed the sleeping pills away. Then, settling in with his book, he started worrying about McCormick and rattlesnakes.

Right at at 11:45, Hardcastle put down his book and stood up. Cautiously, he opened his door and peeked out. Seeing no-one, he went down the hallway to the exit door. There, he peeked again and saw what he'd been afraid of. Ken was obviously standing watch. There was no way he could make the appointment tonight and no way he could get a message to McCormick.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. The judge went back to his room to think and worry.

ooooo

The next morning, Judge Hardcastle was wide-awake when the wind chimes went off. He got up, dressed and headed for the outside. Ken was gone, but there was another orderly standing right where he'd been. Hardcastle took a casual look at him and then headed for the main office. He'd decided to take a chance on Jorgensen's greed.

At the office, Hardcastle asked the secretary if an appointment with the doctor was necessary before he left the Clinic for a short time.

"Oh, yes. I'm afraid he'd have to personally approve any leave before your treatments are completed. Our gates aren't even unlocked until 9 AM." She checked the appointment calendar and continued, "He's free for a few minutes at 8:45. Would that suit you?"

"That's perfect. Thanks." The judge nodded at her and left.

Back in his suite, Hardcastle packed his bags and put the camera in the hidden pocket of the smallest one. He wasn't particularly hopeful that he could get everything out with him, but if he could just get free himself, he could get search warrants and file some motions and get the whole legal machinery into action.

Appearing punctually at 8:45, Hardcastle was waved into Jorgensen's private office by the secretary. He was disheartened to find Ken there with Jorgensen.

"Well, Mr. Hardcastle. I understand there's something I can do for you." Jorgensen smiled and motioned to him to take a chair. "Please, sit down."

Ken stepped to the door and muttered something to the secretary that sounded like "Wait outside for a while."

Hardcastle stayed on his feet. "No, thanks. I just wanted to let you know I've decided to pay the other half of the fee. So, I'm headed in to the bank. Do I need to sign out or something?"

"No, it's not necessary for you to sign out. Especially since you won't be leaving just yet. The treatments are really more beneficial if you don't interrupt them. So, please, don't worry about the money yet. Don't worry at all. Worry and stress are two of the most damaging emotions you can have." Jorgensen was looking pleased with himself and life in general.

"Well, really, I feel like I owe you the money." The judge wasn't giving up so easily. "And I told my banker that I'd probably be in today. I figured I'd know by now whether or not --"

A knock on the office door interrupted and Ken pulled it open just a fraction. A voice outside whispered to him and Ken closed the door. "There was a camera in his luggage."

Hardcastle looked from one man to the other. "Yeah, I got a camera. You mean you're going through my stuff? What's going on here!"

"That's exactly what we're going to find out. Ken, bring me that case on the cabinet, will you?" Jorgensen stood up and said, "Sit. Now."

Ken handed a small black case to Jorgensen and then grabbed the judge and pushed him into one of the chairs.

"I need to know exactly what you've been doing here." Jorgensen had taken a syringe from the case and was holding it up to the light. "Are you a spy from some newspaper or magazine? Just a busybody? Someone from one of the labs checking up on me?"

Hardcastle looked up at him and said "I'm just a patient looking for a cure. I don't understand all of this or why you think I'm some sort of spy. Are you telling me there's something funny about your operation?"

"You know, I'm very fond of mystery stories and detective novels," said Jorgensen musingly. "Are you, Mr. Hardcastle?"

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, but if you've got some sorta problem with me, then I'll just be on my way. There's no need for any drama stuff. Just let me go, you keep the five grand you've got, and we'll both be happy."

"No, I think not. You see, I've got a very profitable operation here, but it depends on absolute security. If the constitution of my pills ever got out, that would greatly impact my profitability. And that would lead to major problems with my investors. So I have to take very seriously any report of a person sneaking out at night, questioning the other patients, and going through my drug files. Oh, yes, Eileen rather thought one of the records had been mis-filed. But, perhaps your real mistake was in not taking your pills. You see, the pills are truly good for you, since they're only vitamins and minerals. Particularly B-vitamins, which so many people are deficient in. They do make you feel more energetic and healthy, although there's a noticeable side effect from vitamin B-2. It turns your urine fluorescent yellow. Your first urinalysis demonstrated that you were not taking your pills and that told us you weren't here for your health. People who really have cancer take their pills and anything else that might save them. You just weren't worried enough."

Hardcastle straightened in the chair and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, but you're making a big mistake if you try to keep me here against my will. Now, I'll give you one more chance here --"

Jorgensen burst out laughing. "_You'll_ give _me_ one more chance! That's wonderful!"

Hardcastle starting sizing up his chance of taking Ken by surprise.

"Now, I was talking about detective novels before. One of my favorites has a little technique for murder which would be almost undetectable in a place like this. It involves an empty syringe. You already have needle marks from the blood draws. Now, if I inject an air bubble into your bloodstream, what do you think will happen?"

At that moment, Hardcastle heard a voice outside that brought a smile to his face.

"But it's only a signature and you're all the way at this end of my route. If I have to come back this afternoon, that shoots my whole schedule and I'm not gonna drive an hour and a half just to get one lousy little signature on here. The only way I can keep on schedule is to get this signed right now and if you'd met my boss, you'd know why it's so important and if you could just give me a break here and open that door, I bet I could be in and out in under a minute and that's not too much to ask, is it?"

McCormick's voice was just outside the door at this point. "Now, I know what you have to put up with from delivery guys like me and I bet you're just . . . "

The door opened. ". . . wishing I'd go away and leave you alone." He turned and closed the door on a protesting secretary. Turning back to the men in the room, he said "Which one of you guys is named Hardcastle?"

The judge raised a hand and said "That's me!" He caught a miniscule wink from McCormick and waited for his chance.

McCormick said "Great. Now if you'd just sign this, I can get out of . . . ooops!" He tripped and fell into Jorgensen. At the same time, he threw the clipboard he was carrying directly into Ken's face.

Hardcastle exploded at Ken and sank a left into his stomach. Ken folded up and the judge followed him down to sling a wicked right up into his chin.

McCormick had managed to get Jorgensen face down on the floor and was now sitting on his back. "You okay, Judge?"

"I am now."

Hardcastle was shaking his hand gently. "I've been wanting to do that since yesterday. What's going on outside? Are the cops on the way?"

"Hell, no. I didn't know why you didn't show up last night. You could've overslept." McCormick ignored a snort from the judge and continued, "I figured I'd get in and scope out what was going on and when you didn't call me off, I bopped him."

"And a very good bop it was, too. Now, just keep sitting there and I'll get on the horn to the cops. We've got these guys on assault charges, if nothing else, and I can make a good case for conspiracy to commit murder."

McCormick adjusted his position a little to cause Jorgensen the utmost discomfort. "So, what'd you have for dinner?"

ooooo

Charlie Friedman shook his head in dismay and chagrin. "Milt, it's not fair."

Hardcastle grinned at him. "Look, the bank's gonna foreclose and when the place is sold at auction, all the creditors, which includes me, will get a percentage back. And besides, it was worth five grand to shut that place down. Of all the people in the world for the guy to swindle, he had to pick folks who were dying. That's got to be just about the limit for any lowlife. It was a real pleasure, Charlie and I appreciate you getting me onto it. Now, how are my test results?"

Doctor Friedman shook his head again and smiled. "Normal." He held up a hand at Hardcastle's grin. "But that means you can eat _normally_. The kind of meals that have green vegetables in them, and fruit. No more cheeseburgers three times a day."

"Well, I know we kinda went hog-wild there for a couple of months. But the kid was just out of the hospital and it was whatever he wanted to eat and we just overdid it, I guess. But all he wanted was pizza, and burgers, and cookies, and ice cream, and chips, and french fries. And then there was the cheesecake binge. Oh, boy."

Charlie was still shaking his head. "Milt. You were blessed with a healthy body and you've taken great care of it for more than sixty years. You get cardio workouts playing basketball, you've always done weight training. But we're at the age now when we need to take a little more care to stay as healthy as we are. And that's all I'm asking. Even Mark, at his age, has to start thinking about eating a little more sensibly. Just eat the kind of meals that Sarah would've cooked for you before she retired - a little less red meat, fewer eggs, a little less butter and oil, more veggies, less starch. That's not so hard, is it?"

"Nah," the judge was shaking his head now. "Actually, some of the stuff McCormick fixed was pretty good. But don't tell him I said that. And it's gonna be such a relief to have him off my case now. You can't believe what a pain in the keister he's been about this."

"Ah. Now that brings me to my next point." Friedman started fidgeting, playing with a letter opener. "I, ah, when you were, um, I kind of asked Mark to keep an eye on you for me," he finally blurted.

Hardcastle leaned back and stared. "You did what?"

"Well, Milt, I talked to him about the changes I wanted you to make and I suppose he might've taken that responsibility a little too seriously. I remember you've mentioned his lack of family stability to me, and maybe he just tried too hard to hold onto what he has now. To not lose someone else. I do know when I mentioned future heart problems if your cholesterol continued to rise, he actually turned a little pale. Be forgiving, Milt. He was doing his best for you. We both were."

"You didn't trust me." Hardcastle looked grim.

"No, I didn't." Charlie looked back at him soberly. "Was I wrong?"

"Nope. But don't tell McCormick _that_, either."

"Go on," said Charlie, laughing. "Go home. Linda and Becca have left you both a little thank-you since I knew you wouldn't let me repay you."

All during the drive home, Hardcastle thought about what a "little thank-you" could be. _If it's kittens, they're going right back where they came from._

McCormick was waiting for him at the front door when he pulled in. "Well?"

"Normal, kid. Let's fire up the grill!" Hardcastle barely got through the door when Mark started pulling him into the kitchen.

"Judge, you'll never believe what Linda and Becca brought over. They must've known your tests were good. Check this out!" Mark threw open the door of the fridge.

There, in a flat glass pan, were two enormous sirloin steaks. "They weigh a pound and a half each, and I've got them marinating in red wine, garlic, peppercorns, a little vinegar and a bay leaf."

"Oh," the judge whispered. "They're beautiful."

He straightened up and thought _And they're not kittens. Thank you, Lord._

"And wait 'til you see what they brought _me_," McCormick continued.

"French fries?"

"No, we're having baked potatoes, with low-fat sour cream, not butter, and sliced tomatoes. But come see what I got!" Now McCormick was pulling him into the study.

Next to the wing chair was a huge box, open at the top. McCormick reached both arms inside and pulled out two kittens. "They came with litter boxes, and a scratching post, and toys and there's one for you and one for me." He cuddled a beautiful calico against his chest and put a pure white kitten on the judge's desk.

Hardcastle braced himself and started, "Now, look, kid."

That was as far as he got.

"Aren't they cute? I never had a kitten before. Well, I never had any pets at all. Not even a goldfish. And I always wanted a dog or a cat or _something_. And now I actually have a pet, and they've already got names and they have collars and harnesses so we can take them outside and they've had all their shots and mine's been spayed and yours has been neutered and don't you want to know what their names are?"

The judge looked down at the white kitten playing with his gavel, then back at the calico.

McCormick beamed and said, "Mine's Scout and yours is Silver."

Hardcastle sighed and looked at Mark, with Scout cradled right over his heart.

"Well, aren't you going to say it?" said McCormick.

The judge sighed again and said, "Oh, well. Hi-yo, Silver."

Finis


End file.
